


How Stiles Stilinski Blocked His Own Shot (To Make-Out)

by salvadore



Series: Romantic Stylez (BH Edition) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, Danny Mahealani Finds Out, Fake Marriage, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1374961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvadore/pseuds/salvadore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny and Stiles played at marriage as kids, but it didn't end well. Stiles has the chance to make it right. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Stiles Stilinski Blocked His Own Shot (To Make-Out)

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS SUPER CANON DIVERGENT! There is literally one scene utilized from s3 and one other s3 reference at the beginning. Otherwise it's just teens running around fighting monsters and being dumb about love. I don't know what to tell you ~~Jeff Davis~~. 
> 
> Most of the season 2 cast gets a mention, but that's about it. Because, tbh, this began as comment!fic over the summer (you can find the original [here](http://ivoryandgold.livejournal.com/50034.html?thread=1189234#t1189234) if you're interested) and was always meant to be solely about Danny/Stiles +Scott, even though I decided to make it a longer.
> 
> (Oh, and, yeah, the title is an obvious nod to "The Boy Who Blocked His own Shot" by Brand New) And, finally, thanks a million times over to my gal friday, Tino ♥

Danny finds out about werewolves about two point five seconds after Jackson leaves town. That, in Stiles' opinion, is solidly Derek's fault. And not in the usual way that has Stiles frustrated because, _come on, dude, you are_ literally _the only adult here_ but in a more, forehead smacking sort of way. Because honestly, how do the things Derek says pass through his brain as acceptable enough to come out of his mouth?

“I am not turning him,” Derek says, not even looking at Danny who is standing squarely between Stiles and Scott, having essentially grabbed the two of them after school and convinced them to take him to Derek's derelict den in the woods. Stiles thinks it should be clarified as kidnapping, but he isn't sure if Jackson told Danny about how Scott and Stiles kidnapped _him_ , so he keeps it to himself.

He does, however, ask Derek, “Have you gone on an alpha diet? Sworn off the blood of jocks, or something?” Because he still hasn't learned when to keep his mouth shut around Derek. He can admit that it's a problem. Luckily though, or maybe just because Scott is standing nearby with his concerned eyebrows drawn, Derek just bares his teeth in a threatening way that isn't remotely a smile. Derek doesn't, however, make any moves to throw Stiles across his front porch, so Stiles counts that as a win.

“I'm not turning him,” Derek reiterates. At least this time he nods toward Danny.

“What _aren't_ you planning on turning me into?” Danny asks. Stiles joins Derek and Scott in staring at Danny in some amount of shock, or in Derek's case a level of constipation. Stiles turns to stare hard at Derek, trying to communicate with his mind that no one would make that face in this scenario. Derek is unperturbed, raising an eyebrow, oh, and now he smirks, Stiles thinks.

Of course Scott speaks first, with his concerned face in full _should I take you home to have dinner at my house with my mom?_ mode, and says, “A werewolf.”

Stiles drops his head back and stares plaintively at the sky.

And that's how Danny learns about werewolves. He takes it calmly, with a satisfied nod like he's filling in the holes and making sense of last year's insanity. Or maybe he just thinks they're all crazy, which Stiles thinks is fair. Either way, Danny doesn't ask for proof or further explanation, and no one has to demonstrate by growing ridiculously long sideburns. Danny just walks back to his car, nodding to himself.

And leaves Stiles and Scott outside Derek's as he drives off at a pace that kicks up dirt.

“That could've gone better,” Scott says. Stiles just groans, already tired just thinking about the walk through underbrush to get to Scott's house.

“Get off my property,” Derek growls at the both of them before going back to washing graffiti off his door. It's a crappy, burnt up door on an even worse house, though, so Stiles doesn't really see why Derek bothers. When he says something of the sort, Derek throws a rock at him.

-

The shit never stops flying in Beacon Hills. And having Danny in the know means he's now on their team, which is a good thing. Especially with Erica and Boyd still missing, and Isaac on some sort of training retreat or something with Derek most days.

When Isaac does show up he's perpetually wearing scarves even though it's barely fall and, really. Stiles likes the guy, sort of, but Isaac knows about as much about werewolves and the supernatural as Scott did in the beginning. Which means that Derek still isn't sharing his alleged knowledge with anyone, and isn't that just great? Stiles would take it up with Derek-himself, if Derek was ever around.

Or if he didn't have his hands full battling a sprite with a serious taste for human flesh. Literally.

His hands are around the thing's wrists while it snaps at him with it's array of shark teeth, and Stiles is seriously wondering when he became the Xander of the group, because he would like to opt out, when suddenly the sprite goes flying away from him, ripping out of his hands and all.

Stiles sags into the dirt, partly in relief and partly so he can tilt his head back and look at whoever he owes thanks to. He expects to see Scott or Allison, or Derek (less likely), but not Danny with a baseball bat in hand. Danny who is breathing heavily while sweat runs from his brow down along the side of his nose. Stiles has to force himself not to stare as it travels south toward the lines of Danny's lips.

“Where'd you get the bat?” Stiles asks, not that it matters. But he doesn't hear anyone shouting or the screeching of sprites so, it must be safe for chit-chat.

“I played baseball for years before I started lacrosse,” Danny says. As if it's obvious. And maybe it's just Stiles, but Danny looks displeased despite being a hero.

“We played little league together, remember?”

Stiles does remember. Vaguely. Or at least he remembers long hours where he sat on the bench alone because Scott couldn't join the team due to his asthma and the coach thought Stiles was too hyperactive for playing the bases. Stiles has to think about it to remember eight year old Danny, though. It must show, because Danny's face goes from frustrated to pissed. He turns and heads to where Lydia is helping Allison retrieve arrows, leaving Stiles lying in the dirt, exhausted and sore and remembering, slowly, how Danny used to smile at him a lot when they played little league together. Danny had been a boy with a big gap where he'd lost two front teeth at the same time and a blush on his pudgy cheeks that neither eight year old nor sixteen year old Stiles' understands.

-

Stiles thinks the sudden emergence of lycanthropes in Beacon Hills explains why he hadn't noticed earlier that Danny doesn't like him.

Obviously he had, and still has, quite a bit on his plate, helping Scott figure out how not to tear locker doors off their hinges and everything else. And, besides, Stiles thinks that he can't be held wholly responsible for not noticing the way Danny always rolled his eyes and looked away when Stiles would speak to him. Not when Stiles was so used to it. But if Stiles thinks back to the early days of Scott's rise to popularity, and he does when he should be reading chapters six through nine of his AP USH textbook for homework, it's as obvious as a smack to the face.

For the first time, Stiles is slightly embarrassed for having asked Danny about whether or not he was attractive. If only because Danny's disinterest now and his interest way-back-when spells out something Stiles doesn't quite understand, but at least knows that, whatever it means, Stiles shouldn't have bribed the guy with a shirtless Derek.

-

Stiles feels awkward around Danny. It's bad enough that he's pretty much out of his league when they have group meetings at Lydia's house (the meeting of Beacon Hills' "neighborhood supernatural watch") to talk about what odd patterns they've seen or to pass around verified supernatural factoids. Between himself, Lydia, Allison, Scott, Isaac (when he's there), and Danny - Stiles isn't sure what all he's bringing to the table.

And now Danny's glances, and the way he's obviously kind to everyone but Stiles, makes Stiles want to crawl into Derek's crappy house with him and avoid the world too. Because everyone loves Danny and Danny loves everyone – except Stiles.

 

Thinking about this in class, Stiles groans quietly and rests his face in his arms. Nose pressed into his notebook, Stiles is sure he'll have and ink spot there later, but is too tired to care. He drowns out the lecture and let's his mind wander. His limbs are sore from near daily monster chasing and he needs sleep.

Stiles wonders how he is supposed to deal with hormones, the constant battling against “evil forces,” passing his AP classes, _and now_ the swooping feeling he gets in his gut every time Danny smiles. He doesn't have time for his homework, let alone time to figure that one out.

Turning his head to he's resting his temple on his arms, searching out a cool patch of his own skin to cool off his forehead, Stiles notices Scott is watching him. Luckily Scott isn't outright staring, so at least Coach won't call Stiles out for sleeping in class.

Scott lifts his lips in the minimum of a smile, more of a question of how Stiles is doing. Stiles shrugs back, readjusting in his seat so he's more comfortable, in case he does fall asleep, and watches Scott's eyebrows furrow. Stiles parts his lips, preparing to mouth that he's “okay,” when Scott's eyebrows jump all the way back up his forehead toward his hairline and Stiles feels his face mirror that look.

He startles upward in his seat and turns to find Coach standing on his other side. Stiles' books and pens go flying and the frustration on Coach's face turns to bemusement as a murmur of giggling starts up.

“Welcome back to the group, Mr. Stilinski.”

By the time everyone finally stops staring at him, Stiles is considering hiding underneath his desk until graduation.

-

Stiles decides to mark off a few hours after school to mope around like a normal teenager about it. So sue him if he doesn't want to actually deal with it. Stiles has spare time between lacrosse practice and meeting at Lydia's to help research charms and guarding spells, a time when his dad won't be home, and Stiles can (and will, dammit!) eat all the ice cream and curly fries he wants while watching shitty, reality TV. He's earned it.

Stiles just doesn't anticipate Scott appearing at his front door.

They flop on the couch with their feet up on the coffee table, and even though the company makes it awkward for Stiles to follow through on his binging plans, he's happy to have Scott to himself for a few hours when there isn't any research that needs to be done.

“Why do you think Danny hates me?” Stiles asks out of the blue, when they're well into the third episode of a show that has no plot, just lot's of drunk people screaming at each other.

Scott stops staring at the TV to turn his full attention on Stiles. He probably doesn't realize he looks like a really concerned puppy, and while it's slightly embarrassing just how strong the force of puppy power is within Scott, Stiles appreciates the concern and affection, so he doesn't say anything.

“Danny doesn't hate you.”

“He doesn't _like_ me.”

Scott hums at that. And says, “Well, maybe it has something to do with what happened between you two in third grade?”

“What do you mean?”

“That divorce of yours?”

-

"But it really wasn't a marriage," Stiles explains, frustrated and fully-aware that the middle of chasing down a human eating monster of the week isn't precisely the best moment to bring up this up. But it seems like they're always chasing or being chased by something, so Stiles thinks he should get a free pass when it comes to timing. Plus, he's trying to drive as fast as possible while he also tries to avoid killing himself or anyone else in the Jeep. "I mean, if we're being honest and taking reality into consideration!"

"Yes, but the divorce was pretty intense," Scott counters from the backseat. Stiles groans, because he _knows_. Scott reminded him in great detail and Stiles already has a heavy, dark feeling of guilt settled deep in his gut to match the ulcer he surely has.

Stiles swerves to avoid rear-ending a slowly turning KIA, and throws his best friend across the backseat in the process. The motion forces Danny to grab hold of Stiles' arm so he doesn't slam sideways into the door, which Stiles' thinks is for the best seeing as he isn't sure if the door could hold any weight at the moment, what with the monster size claw marks in it making it structurally unsound.

"You took custody of the stuffed animal you got me for Valentine's Day," Danny says, the first thing he's contributed to the conversation that hasn't been a request to not have this conversation in the first place. And he's angry now, glaring out the windshield as he lets go of Stiles' arm with a speed that suggests skin on skin contact with Stiles might scorch him. " _And_ you refused to talk to me. You'd only communicate with me through Scott -"

"How did you know about mediation anyway?" Scott asks, luckily still in the backseat and uninjured.

"I had a lot going on, okay!" Stiles yells. “Now will everyone shut up long enough for me not to kill us all!”

Thankfully no one reminds him that he started the conversation in the first place, and he jerkily pulls the Jeep into the school's parking lot, the only sounds in the Jeep being the engine and his own muttering about hell-mouth's and being too old for monster slaying. The Jeep jerks under them as Stiles grinds the gears.

Scott's halfway to the main entrance when Stiles gets his keys free from the ignition. Stiles is stopped from falling out the door in a rush to follow after him by Danny's hand on his arm. Words stick on Stiles' tongue and when he turns, Danny catches his chin with his other hand. Danny is too close and he looks angry - if he wasn't holding onto Stiles, Stiles would've bolted back.

"I was hurt,” Danny says. “As dumb as that might seem to you."

Danny looks hurt when he says it. Well, under the anger. If he was anyone else, Stiles knows he'd have a broken nose to take home to his dad that would have nothing at all to do with the monster that they're chasing down.

It makes Stiles' heart clench, and he struggles to swallow, suddenly having dry mouth.

Out of nowhere, Danny leans in, catching Stiles in a deep kiss. His fingers are applying gentle pressure on Stiles' chin, until Stiles gives in and tilts his head the way Danny wants him to. Danny presses his tongue to Stiles' lips until Stiles opens his mouth. Once in, Danny kisses the wind right out of Stiles, even sucks on Stiles' tongue for a moment that is stupidly hot and leaves Stiles reeling when Danny is suddenly gone, out the car and making large strides across the parking lot, calling over his shoulder, "Oh, and I got a _lot_ better at kissing."

-

Stiles has dreams about that kiss.

He also has nightmares about creatures that hide under the bed to go with his stress dreams about showing up to school in all manner of conditions. He also wakes up panting for breath from dark, deep dreams that feel like drowning. So dreaming of Danny kissing him is by far the best of the dreams that make up his exhausting, wakeful nights.

But dreaming about the kiss, and about Danny's hands and legs, his thighs strangely enough, and his bare chest that Stiles has seen so many times in the locker room but up till now didn't feel the need to stare at – it all makes Stiles lost for words. Which isn't to say he's quiet. Not at lunch or anywhere that Danny is; in those situations he's worse than normal, fingers fiddling with anything or using anything in reach to drum on surfaces. He just doesn't have anything to say to aid the situation.

Certainly nothing that would result in Danny kissing him again.

And then the bodies of two high school students show up three days apart, different genders and socio-economic groups, with only one similarity that Stiles can see.

“Virgins, Scott!”

Stiles has had very little sleep in the last year, even less in the past couple weeks. And he's maybe taken his meds a few too many at a time and with only water, no breakfast, to wash them down. So he knows his hands and head and his whole body is moving with same amount of commitment he is voicing his theory. Which is to say, a lot.

And he isn't surprised by the way Scott is staring at him, an eyebrow raised and mostly amused, but a little worried too.

It doesn't help that they're in the locker room, and that even though their teammates are talking and clanging their lockers and everything else, Stiles is still the loudest thing in the room. But Scott seems to be the only one paying him any mind, so it must still be a day that ends in D-A-Y.

“So you think someone is _eating_ virgins?”

“Eating, killing, I don't know! Maybe it's some sort of succubus situation! Where they're getting the best sex of their sexless lives and then, pow! Death! I just don't know Scott! All I know is I'm in danger until I have sex!”

“Okay, calm down,” Scott says. He's laughing and, okay, no, now Stiles stares wide-eyed at him. Because this is serious.

“I need to have sex, Scott!” Stiles shrieks. He slams his locker shut as he continues exclaiming, “Right now! I need to be sexed, someone needs to sex me! Right now!”

“Alright. I'll do it.”

Stiles yelps. The last person on the planet he wanted to have respond is leaning against the lockers, in a horribly low v-neck - it's just horrible and Stiles hates it as much as he hates Danny's lips and all other body parts he has. Danny's even eying him up and down. Stiles feels like a piece of meat, gets the phrase now for sure, but he's also thinking about the kissing dreams and trying really hard not to blush or have his blood rushing toward other inappropriate regions.

“Come by my place around nine,” Danny is saying. “Plan to stay the night. I like to cuddle.”

Danny practically winks at Stiles when he says that last part. And Stiles' mouth is dry. He's surprised he manages to respond.

“That's so sweet. Are you kidding?”

Danny leans in towards him, and Stiles can actually feel the drag of his Adam's Apple as he tries to swallow, staring helplessly at Danny's lips.

“Yes, I'm kidding.”

Stiles really wants to punch him. Or even more embarrassing, grab Danny and kiss him.

Watching Danny walk away from him, so self-satisfied and with his backpack carelessly hanging off one shoulder. It gets to him. And Stiles doesn't mean to say what comes out of his mouth next, but he's a mess of frayed nerves and hormones that are pulling him in far too many directions at once.

“It's not okay to toy with someone's emotions like that, Danny!” Stiles yells at Danny's back. His voice actually cracks on the second word. “It's not attractive!”

For half a second Stiles feels good about getting the last word in. But Scott is staring at him, slightly horrified and Danny has faltered to a full stop in the doorway of the locker room. Stiles' jaw drops as he looks back and forth between Scott and Danny, and he's horrified now too, because that isn't what he meant to say. The only way this could be worse is if the whole locker room was watching. Which, since Danny is blocking the door, it's just a matter of moments before everyone notices. Danny is slowly turning to face Stiles with a look that Stiles wishes was murderous. Murderous, Stiles can deal with. He has experience with murderous. 

“I was eight,” Stiles pleads helplessly to Scott because at least Scott looks like he believes him. Danny must leave after that, Stiles isn't sure. He watches as Scott's face becomes slightly pitying and he has to drop his head in his hands before he does something even more stupid. Like cry.

Scott pats his arm awkwardly and Stiles tries to crush his head in his locker door as the bell rings for homeroom to start.

-

Lydia calls Stiles and Scott to tell them that Stiles' theory probably isn't far off. “Except the virgin part,” Lydia adds. Scott grins at Stiles, holding his cellphone aloft between them. Stiles crosses his arms and slouches further into the wall beneath Scott's window while Lydia tells them what she and Allison found when they snuck into the morgue to look at the bodies.

“Husks?” Scott asks, repeating what Lydia had said about the state of the corpses. And Stiles shares a confused look with him. It's definitely on the stranger side, even for Beacon Hills.

“Yeah,” Allison interjects. “We were hoping you could look up what might cause that to happen?”

Which is how Stiles and Scott find themselves entrenched in print-outs and books Isaac smuggled out of Derek's attic. Isaac called it an attic, Stiles is pretty sure that is a generous term if the amount of soot and dirt in his hair and all over his sweater were any indication. He's disappeared since then, to get snacks, presumably, but that was at least an hour ago. Scott says he's still in the kitchen talking to his mom.

“Hey, by the way,” Stiles says, interrupting the scritch-scratch of Scott making notes from Derek's books. “Sorry I haven't been there to talk about your break-up. And ... you know.”

Stiles waves around him to encompass everything that has happened.

Scott looks at him. It's an intense look, and Stiles feels like he's being scrutinized, but there's nothing even remotely angry about Scott's eyes. Stiles let's out a sigh of relief when it stops, and Scott smiles at him.

“Don't worry about it. We've all had a lot on our plates.” Scott is so sincere. Stiles appreciates it. They both smile and nod, and Stiles is sure there's more to talk about, but this is okay. He doesn't even mind when Isaac reappears with sandwiches and takes to Scott's side like a magnet. It's comfortable, even though they don't have enough light on and Stiles' ordinary eyes are starting to ache.

A little while later Melissa McCall tells them to go to bed, unbudging on her stance that Isaac and Stiles should stay. “It's too late to be out there driving,” she says. Stiles is sure that she's more worried about monsters than drunk or reckless drivers. But it's not what she says out loud, and Stiles appreciates it.

-

Mummy is the creature conclusion they come to. Stiles and Lydia come to it almost at the same time, and it's just too far-fetched, in Stiles opinion. But when is it ever as simple as an outbreak of an unknown disease like the CDC thinks it is? So they're in library listening while the newest principal and a representative from the CDC discuss ways to stay safe and about using hand sanitizer. Lydia and Stiles are sharing their notes. Lydia has a list of mummy-like creatures, and Stiles is reminding everyone of the 90s Brendan Fraser film. The group stares at him until he rolls his eyes and produces his own notes.

Unfortunately, both he and Lydia have very little to go on, and not even Derek has any books on the subject, according to Isaac.

“So what are we going to do?” Danny asks, in a hushed, husky tone.

“We need more information,” Lydia says.

Everyone is bent over the table, trying to be inconspicuous about completely ignoring the speaker. Except Stiles, who isn't even bothering to do that. He's preoccupied with trying as hard as he can to stare straight ahead and act normal with Danny's leg pressed up against his own. It's making Stiles' mind skip, and every time Danny shifts in his seat it's a reminder of how close he is. Stiles is trying not to move so Danny doesn't notice how they're sitting and move away.

Stiles makes makes S.O.S. signs at Scott with his eyes, but the message must not be getting through because Scott just looks confused. Isaac does too, but that's mostly because he's watching Scott make a confused face at Stiles. And any moment now, Stiles knows that either the other people in the library are going to turn and stare at their table, or Danny is going to look at him. Stiles feels like he's in a pressure cooker waiting for either to happen, because he knows as soon as one of them does, he's going to do something stupid. He can feel it in his bones.

“So, we're agreed then?” Danny asks, and he sets his arm down on the table, and his arm is pressed to Stiles' arm, and, wow, now Stiles feels scorched, and he _has to_ look at Danny now.

Danny is making eye contact with everyone and everyone is nodding. Of course, when Danny looks at Stiles, Stiles nods too. Or tries too. It comes off forced and choppy because staring at Danny turned into staring at Danny's lips, and Stiles had to overcompensate for that.

“Agreed,” Allison says.

“Right,” Stiles says, stammering, finally breaking eye contact with Danny, who is staring at Stiles like he might be crazy. “What are we agreeing on?”

-

Stiles dreams about being eight and asking Danny, the kid who always came to school with the same sandwich packed for lunch, if he wanted to marry him. And Danny smiles, gap on full display, and says “yes.” He offers Stiles half of his lunch and they eat it, smiling at each other across the cafeteria table while their legs swing. When Scott shows up later, shirt inside out and looking winded, Stiles asks him to come to the wedding. And Scott is excited for them, grinning almost as broadly as Danny had.

Then things get fuzzy; he dreams about being naked in class and an ache in the back of his neck. When he wakes up, it is to someone calling his name as they shake his shoulder.

“Stiles.”

Stiles startles, flailing a little as he comes to slumped down in the front of his computer, a book slipping from his hands to thump loudly on the floor. Stiles winces, and hopes that his dad doesn't wake up, not when he's got Danny in his room, currently standing over Stiles with his face close and concerned. Stiles gulps and then makes a face at the taste in his mouth.

“Sorry,” Stiles says, smacking his lips a little and sneering at his own stale breath. “Was I snoring?”

“No. I just.” Danny falters. And drops his head, with a chuckle. When he lifts his head up he's smiling and, for the first time, Stiles realizes he hasn't seen a smile so genuine on Danny. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?” Stiles asks, genuinely curious. It's the middle of the night, Danny is over because they're the only two who could possibly get into Peter's laptop, aside from Lydia who refused to touch the thing. Stiles isn't sure what time it is now; the sun was beginning to set when his eyes started to feel heavy, and, now, Danny looks as exhausted as Stiles feels. Something about the way Stiles' desk lamp is illuminating Danny's face, makes talking easier than it has been since Danny kissed him that time. It also seems far less impossible that Danny might someday kiss him again. Stiles wraps his fingers around the arms of his chair.

“For making things awkward,” Danny says. “Holding all that stuff from childhood against you. It was childish.”

Stiles watches the way the light makes Danny's eyelashes look longer and darker, and thinks that Danny really is, genuinely, the nicest guy he knows. Danny looks away with a soft sound like a chuckle.

“Anyway, I hacked into Peter's laptop.” Danny clears his throat in the middle of the sentence. Stiles wonders if it really is a blush appearing on Danny's cheeks or if it's just Stiles' hopeful imagination.

“Really? I thought you said it would take a few hours,” Stiles says, exclaiming in a high whisper as he spins in his desk chair to face Danny. Danny's is picking up Peter's laptop from the edge of Stiles' bed.

Stiles just watches Danny shrug, fingers running along the keyboard, not pressing any keys. “It did. It's three am,” he says. Stiles is sure that there _is_ a blush on Danny's cheeks now, but he doesn't say anything about it.

“What? Was I really asleep that long?” Stiles asks, incredulous.

Danny laughs. “I didn't actually notice you sleeping until I was finished running algorithms. Peter was pretty smart about his computer security. Especially considering what everyone's told me about him.”

Danny is holding the laptop out to him, and Stiles takes it from his hands and then does a little pivot so he's sitting next to Danny on his bed instead of so far away at his desk. Sure enough, there's the desktop background and file folders, on every supernatural creature probably. The knowledge Peter has compiled, like some sort of scholastic project on the supernatural, would be so much cooler if Peter hadn't been the compiler. Stiles says something like that aloud to Danny, or tries to. He doesn't know if he finishes his sentence because he's trying to read up on sprites and pixies at the same time.

“Damn. I wish we'd known _half of this_ when we were fighting those assholes.”

At his elbow, Danny laughs, a silent sort that shakes his whole body, and Stiles can feel it, his laughter shakes the bed. Stiles smiles. His skin is warm where his arm is pressed to Danny's arm, and Stiles can't help himself from exerting the tiniest amount of pressure so his arm is flush to Danny's from shoulder to wrist, including their elbows. Stiles can feel Danny's arm hair rubbing against his forearm, and it's all too funny and too much for Stiles at the same time. His heart is doing somersaults in his chest. Stiles runs his fingers over the keys of the keyboard and the room is quiet between them, except for the noises his house makes.

“I-,” Stiles starts to say, just as Danny says, “Maybe we should -,” and that's when Stiles looks at Danny. Their faces are so close and it's all too easy for Stiles to catch Danny staring at his lips.

“What were you going to say?” Stiles asks.

Danny smiles. He licks his lips as his eyes flit from Stiles' eyes to Stiles' lips. “Just that. Maybe we should copy everything for Lydia? And then.”

Danny makes eye contact with Stiles. “And then call it a night?”

“Yeah.” After a few seconds of staring while no one speaks, Stiles hands the laptop back to Danny, with all the awkwardness and more than the small movement should be capable of containing. They're softly chuckling at each other as their fingers brush, and Stiles waits until Danny looks down at the keyboard and focuses in on transferring everything to a jump drive, and Stiles lays back on his bed. His lower back aches and his whole body is suddenly so tired now that he's horizontal. He falls asleep to the sound of Danny's fingers pressing down keys in a patternless-pattern, his breathing soft and slow.

Stiles sets his own breathing to Danny's until sleep takes him away.

-

Stiles wakes up with his hand in someone else's hand, his leg thrown over someone else's (their calve, maybe?), and warm breath that means an open mouth isn't too far from his face. Now that he's awake, the breathing makes the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

“Hey.” Danny's voice is breathy when he whispers. Stiles keeps his eyes closed, pretends to be asleep, but he moves his little finger ever so slightly, running it along the skin of Danny's hand. The ridge and the wrinkles beneath his finger feel like a knuckle, maybe Danny's pinkie.

“I hope you didn't mind me sharing your bed,” Danny says. His finger curls around Stiles, and, yeah, it's Danny's pinkie hooked in his. Stiles smiles, and opens his eyes little.

“It's cool,” Stiles murmurs. His lips are stuck together with dry spit, and Stiles runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth. He forgot to brush his teeth before he passed-out and it tells, by the taste gestating in Stiles' mouth. He tries not breathe too much on Danny, who is mere inches from Stiles' face.

“Sorry my bed's a twin,” Stiles sleepily slurs. Danny smiles, Stiles watches the pull of his lips and the appearance of his straight, gapless teeth through one half-lidded eye.

“Did you have braces?” Stiles asks.

“What?”

“Braces,” Stile repeats. He gestures with his free hand at his mouth. He means to make a line in front of his own teeth, but his limbs are sleep heavy, and he only manages a half-assed gesture before he sets his hand down.

“Nope. My gaps filled in. That's all.”

They're staring at each other, fingers hooked and their hands toughing just enough that Stiles can feel Danny's heartbeat. Stiles' eyes are open so he can catch the way Danny licks his lips and fidgets closer and closer to Stiles. They're almost nose to nose, and Stiles wants to lean in and kiss Danny. Needs it to happen more than he imagined he could. Because he wanted _so badly_ before. If Stiles had been asked before he ended up sharing his twin-size bed, with the same cartoon sheets he's had since middle school, with a boy who smells like Armani, Stiles would've assumed he'd be embarrassed.

But it's easy. Even the part where he is looking Danny in the eye as he nudges his nose against Danny's, lips almost brushing.

Danny starts to say something, cheeks pink and staring at Stiles' lips without shame now. "I should also tell you. I might have been mean because I like -"

There's a knock at the door that barely precedes, “Stiles, you better be up,” as the door swings open. And, ah, there's Stiles' dad fully dressed for work. Stiles sits up first; shoving back hard and spastic-like from Danny to sit up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. The mattress shifts as Danny sits up too, a little more slowly, and Stiles wishes his dad could've at least dressed less like a sheriff when he interrupted the moment.

“Oh,” he says, meeting Stiles' eyes and trying to hold eye contact. But he is failing miserably at subtly checking out the slept in bed, Danny, and the mess of research materials that have taken up residence on the floors around Stiles' bed and desk.

“Dad!”

“I didn't know we had company?” He is smiling at Stiles in that way that is also stern, and essentially the calm before the storm that is him lecturing Stiles in front of Danny.

“Is that -” Stiles is up and running from the bed, catching his dad's elbow and dragging him out of the room as his dad finishes asking, “Danny Mahealani? The kid you married in the third grade?”

Danny, at least, is laughing when Stiles forces a smile for him as he murmurs that they'll just be a moment, and slams the door shut behind them.

-

Stiles' dad makes fun of them all through breakfast. Which he makes them sit through, making pancakes and reminding Danny about how funny Stiles had looked in elementary school, with big eyes and a trout-pout. Stiles is scandalized by the whole conversation. Afterward, he bustles Danny out of the house, mouthing at his dad that he's awful, and that all they're having for dinner for the next week is vegetables. His dad waves him off, clearly taking it as the idle threat that it is.

Out at Danny's car, Stiles can't stop attempting to apologize. He's sorry for everything from the stolen moment to when Stiles ended up flailing because his dad threatened to bring out the baby pictures and in the process of protesting, Stiles had tipped over the syrup and it spilled on Danny.

“I'm sorry my dad treated you like you'd brought me home from a date or were a suitor, or some shit,” Stiles says, and Danny is smiling, hands in his pockets and leaning against the hood of his car while Stiles talks his ear off.

“It's okay. I didn't mind,” Danny is saying, voice low and talking under Stiles who is still on a roll. He should stop and let Danny go. But instead he has his hands flying around while he tells Danny about the time his dad had made their first Thanksgiving dinner with sugar instead of salt by mistake, and Danny is smiling at him, and, god, licking his lips again. Stiles brain actually skips, which is something he ought to get used to because it seems to be Danny's special power: reducing Stiles to goo.

“Hey,” Danny says. He pulls his hands from his pockets and moves slowly to close the distance between Stiles and himself. Stiles asks, “What,” twice as Danny gets closer. The second time his eyes are wide. He has to tip his head back just a little bit to keep eye contact with Danny as he stands nearly nose to nose with Stiles. Danny's hands come up, thumbs running gently across Stiles' cheeks to settle just below his ear with his hands cupping the back of his neck.

Danny's nose nudges his own, and it's like a question; his eyes are soft as he searches Stiles'. Stiles is mostly frozen, but he does manage a soft guttural sound. It must be enough of a yes because Danny looks relieved, smiling slightly as he kisses Stiles. Soft lips on Stiles' own, thumbs applying the lightest pressure and tongue at just the right moment.

“F-fuck,” Stiles stammers when Danny lets him up for air.

“I didn't want to lose the moment. Just in case we didn't get another one,” Danny says. One of his thumbs runs across Stiles' lower lip and Stiles is just transfixed, shivering at the feeling of Danny's thumb tugging at his lip and staring at the slight pink to Danny's mouth.

“I. We should. Again. Again would be good,” Stiles gets out, getting shaky hands to grab at Danny's waist. Danny's jeans are warm from Danny's skin, and Stiles can't be blamed for following them up and under Danny's shirt to where Danny's skin is even warmer. Head tipped back in laughter and with lines on his face from smiling, ones that Stiles secretly hopes grow deep as Danny ages because they look great on him, Danny arches ever so slightly into Stiles hands and body. Stiles actually groans at the contact. He'll apologize later for the half hardness of his boner. Right now he gives into the insistent weight of Danny's hand on the back of his neck.

Danny lets Stiles up to breath with a nip to his lip and something that looks like a promise of more making out by the way he winks.

“I'll see you at school, Stilinski,” Danny says. “I have to go home and change.”

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Stiles mumbles, eyes closed and trying to follow Danny's lips with his own, now reprogrammed into a set of Danny's lips seeking missiles, thank you very much Danny. He makes it hard for Danny to untangle, by hooking his fingers in the belt loops of Danny's jeans. Eyes crinkled and touching Stiles way more than he should, if he really does mean to leave, Danny outright promises more.

“We'll go over to mine after school. We'll make out and cuddle.” He winks, and presses a chaste kiss to Stiles lips. “We deserve it.”

Danny leaves and leaves Stiles watching after him, already late for school and needing at least a cold shower and wondering if Danny would be okay with holding hands at school. One thing at a time though, Stiles thinks. He has to get out of these clothes, even if the scent of Armani on them is great, he knows that the pits smell like his deodorant and slightly stale which will only get worse after thirty-six hours of use.

Stiles turns around – to find his dad standing on their front porch, grinning into his cup of coffee. He has his arms crossed _and_ his ankles which is a sure sign that he's feeling like gloating. Under his ear is the wireless phone, and he's murmuring something into it that Stiles can't hear. Stiles can feel the heat in his cheeks and he really hopes his dad only caught the encore kiss of Danny's performance.

But if the way his dad is grinning is any indication, Stiles is about to spend the rest of his high school career being teased mercilessly by his dad for one of the best moments of his life.

“Scott and I have come to a decision,” he says, nodding and shrugging in such a way that makes it clear that Scott is the one he's on the phone with. “We've decided you and Danny aren't allowed to elope until you're thirty. So you better plan a long engagement this time.”

Stiles covers his eyes with a hand, head tipped back plaintively at the sky. Hoping Danny will come back because he forgot something, and take Stiles with him, while his dad laughs and talks to Scott about just exactly what Stiles is doing.

-

Danny buys Stiles curly fries after school and teases at holding his hand by nudging their fingers together on the fast-food restaurant table. And he bumps their knees together under the table. He listens to Stiles' entire tale of woe at being a Stilinski with a father who threatened to reprogram his ringtone to the wedding march.

Bonus, talk of marriage, especially teasing, doesn't seem to scare Danny off. If anything, it's what makes him chuckle when he says, "I really like you, Stiles Stilinski."

 

[end]


End file.
